You see, I Love You

You see, I love you.
It’s in my looks across the table,
while we hold hands,
for a moment pretending.
I can’t say it, not ever.
Instead, I’ll be poetry and art,
filling up these cracks with gold,
running outside to dance in the rain,
at midnight when springtime begins
her first ground awakening,
loving more, myself
and every sunset hue,
as you slip into the realm of stories
told after a glass of wine,
but now that I think of it,
I forgot to say goodbye.

This is Freedom

If I tell you I love you,
it’s not because I have never heard
the cynic’s rasping, cold whisper,
or been paralyzed by doubt’s frozen accusations.
I have merely discovered a hope
whose wisdom is to take all suffering into her arms,
rebelling against despair,
cradling it, until even the worst moments
radiate in indelible light.